Love and Other Nightmares
by diamondpearl876
Summary: Limited time, limited abilities. Kyurem tells her that she can be cured... but only if she saves those she can.
1. in the ice cavern

prologue

in the ice cavern

At the top of a dying stone cavern, adorned with nothing but eroding pedestals and the sound of dripping icicles, Kyurem waits for her.

Her movements are automatic. She climbs the steps with an unrecognizable, sudden strength that she thinks has come to her out of sheer willpower. Her legs shake due to the small tremors echoing in the pervading darkness, and it takes most of her energy to avoid the knee-deep cracks in the rocky floor. Things are not that simple, here. Not only does the presence of a legendary tell her this, but so does the emptiness of her surroundings. A sense of extravagance is missing, one that she's accustomed to from her younger, bedtime story days. For once she wishes she were at home, safe and cozy in her waterbed, even though the weight she's lost recently makes it less fun than it used to be.

It's cold, too, but it's the kind of cold that's hard to notice unless it's staring you in the face. The exertion forces her breathing to stop being shallow; puffs of freezing air temporarily cloud her vision. The statues on both sides of her are moving now, levitating in front of her and blocking her path. They look like snowflakes, but in their center are gleaming blue eyes. They must be ice-type pokémon. She gets the feeling they don't see humans all that often. One of them is nearing her, and a crystal hanging from their underside reaches out. It's warm to the touch, and it vanishes just as quickly, leaving steam in its wake. The rest of the cryogonal ignore her and float about, growing closer and closer to Kyurem.

It occurs to her that she's probably dreaming. That would explain why she's unusually calm, but she can't be sure. She's always liked the winter for its dullness. The fleeting, boring moments amidst her eccentricies keep her from going off the deep end. Holidays are a special bonus, and for some reason she's reminded of her little sister begging for a pokémon every year but always opening her presents with clear disdain. Her little sister would be jealous of this dream. She would give anything to trade places with her sibling. She's confident in this decision until Kyurem speaks to her.

"Annie Willems," it bellows simply. Its voice nearly destroys her balance. Kyurem knows her name, and only then does she realize that she's reached the top. The monster towers over her while standing on two feet, and it looks even more menacing with its bottom teeth jutting out of its mouth. There is no perfect way to describe Kyurem unless you mention its demonic yellow eyes and its wings, spiked with ice on both ends. Its short arms are laughable, and that's what she holds on to, though it's not difficult to stay composed. Kyurem howls, as if it can read her thoughts.

"Annie Willems! Here I am!" she says. There goes her wild side again. Her parents always wanted to keep it contained. When they finally got their wish, they couldn't look at her without crying. It feels good to be herself again, but she knows she'll wake up soon and return to normal, whatever that is and whatever that means for her.

"Do you know why you are here, Annie Willems?" it asks, moving its misshaped head around like she's supposed to notice something. She doesn't notice anything in particular, unless you count the other pokémon staring at her with anticipation.

"This is a nightmare disguised as a dream of sorts, I would say."

"I can assure you that that is not true. This is very real."

She expected for Kyurem to say as much. What she doesn't expect is what comes next.

"I've brought you here for a special reason," it continues. "I need you, Annie Willems. I need you to do something very, very important for me. For the world."

It seems cliche, too unreasonable to be true, and more. What can she do but laugh? She doesn't laugh because Kyurem has lulled her into a state of passiveness, like she herself is encased in a sheet of ice taken from its massive body. She has no choice but to play along if she doesn't want her sense of well-being to be crushed further.

"And what is this important task you have for me, may I ask?" she says, trying for a hint of sarcasm. It feels unnatural and real at the same time, and she's not sure what to make of it. The cryogonal around us are now emanating with a buzzing noise that grounds her to the present moment.

"Tell me you're paying attention, if you would." Kyurem sounds surprisingly quiet, now. If she were a legendary pokémon, she would appreciate her antics in the middle of a serious situation.

"Of course I'm paying attention. Can't you tell? Aren't you supposed to have great powers or something?"

"My powers grow weaker. Do you know anything about my kind?"

"Is there more than one of you?" She shivers at the idea, but then maybe her little sister could have her own version of this dream.

"There should be. I am a pokémon that values truth and ideals above all else. I never wanted it to come to this, but the world is full of dishonesty. Humans and pokémon alike go out of their way to do what is easiest for them rather than what is right."

She thinks about this using examples from her own life, but her memory is, at best, a blur. Images merge together with other images and skew her past. She can only remember specific things such as the smell of her favorite pasta, or the color of her mother's hair. No one would believe a story like that if she told it to them a million times. If she were given the choice, she would escape this place and say none of it ever happened.

She nods to Kyurem. With that alone, she can understand, but then it hits her. Before fate twisted her in a different direction, she wanted to be a therapist. She wanted to help people overcome obstacles and make goals they thought were impossible to achieve. She nods again, this time with more effort.

"I have been watching you, Annie Willems. This I will admit. I know you are sick. I know you do not want to go on a pokémon journey as well, but I must ask you to do that for me."

"What does that have to do with anything?" She can't look at it as she says this. Her sickness is something she would have liked to forget. This thought overshadows the pokémon journey idea, though it sounds more appealing.

"I am asking you and many others like you, Annie Willems. You are not inherently special, but you possess certain admirable traits that make you vital to this world. I need you to find and reform a team of pokémon that are extremely dangerous to themselves and everyone around them."

"Reform... pokémon?" It seems absurd. Pokémon are powerful, yes, but she can't imagine them to be the kind of creatures to attack others or be self-destructive. Needless to say, she's twenty-years-old and hasn't spent enough time with pokémon in her life.

"Yes."

"But what about—"

"Your life? What about your life? Aren't you working with limited time... and limited abilities?"

Kyurem's tone strikes down like a hammer. She bites her lip. When she wakes up, she will fall asleep again in a matter of minutes, spent and tired after sitting up. She will struggle to speak, eat, read and write. She will look into her family's faces and not have a clue as to what they're feeling, even if it's obvious. She will not go to school anymore, or work toward her future.

It's only a matter of time until she dies.

"True," she says, sighing. There's not much else to add. Kyurem is very thorough and demeaning.

"If you do this for me, I will promise a reliable, speedy recovery. And if you succeed, I will provide a cure for the overall problem."

"You can really do that?" The words are out ofher mouth before she can think them through.

"Yes. I will find a way."

If this is a dream, she will be disappointed when it's over. If not, she has a legitimate chance to start over and pick up where she left off. Kyurem looks at her expectantly. She knows that she needs to answer fast or the chance will slip through her fingers, as dreams often do.

She tries to grin. "Will my first pokémon be a regular starter?"

At this, Kyurem frowns. "A... starter?"

"You're a legend and you don't know? I'm from Sinnoh. Trainers start with, uh, chimchar, a penguin, some grass-type... Pretty standard, really."

"I have chosen you not only for your personality and tactics, but also for your location. You will know the pokémon you must help when you see them. They are pokémon native to Unova, stuck in Sinnoh for varying reasons. Seek them out. Capture them. Redeem them before it's too late. And you will be rewarded splendidly."

"I have nothing to lose, so..." She shrugs, unsure of what to say next. What happens when your purpose is lost, then found again in a few moments—in the strangest of places, no less?

"It's time to start anew, Annie Willems," Kyurem interrupts. "Best of luck to you."

"Wait! I have a few more questions..."

"We will meet again soon."

Kyurem takes a deep breath, and in less than a second she's blown away. The cryogonal throw ice beams and create a statue of her, as if they don't want her to leave. Their attacks come toward her soon after and she screams, not from the danger, but from the familiar confusion in her muddled brain. It's the first true physical and emotional act she's portrayed in a long, long time.

She prays that it's just the first of many.


	2. time to start anew

chapter 1

time to start anew

I've never seen a storm in Sandgem Town. It's a proud town that stands as a home for both humans and pokémon. The sandy terrain in the south gives way to a beach, where kids chase wingull and adults pretend they're young again by splashing in the cool water. We're so comfortable with each other, we keep our doors unlocked at night. Tourists always leave feeling content. Trainers retrieve their first pokémon from Professor Rowan, not knowing how close their best friend has been all these years.

Adventures have begun in Sandgem Town—just not the dangerous kinds.

But there was a storm inside of me, and it had disastrous consequences. Surprisingly, it was quiet, and it came when I was a sleeping baby. Since then I've lived a terrifying, stunning life, like I've been stuck in the whipping of a hurricane or a tornado. I've followed labyrinths in my mind, but I've lost my sense of direction so many times I forget to question the maze's end.

It's been a while since my movements have been so... free. It's been a while since I've opened my eyes and recognized anything around me.

As Kyurem said, it's time to start anew.

I stir.

I've been dreaming, but not really, not in the sense of what others might be used to.

My brain has created a heartbeat of its own and has turned regular images into memories. My wounds haven't healed, and I pretend I wear a mask so that I can ignore them. There's a pressure on my hips, though I've never been one to leave my back wide open when sleeping. I make enough jokes about Arceus, but honestly, I think he's been forgetting about me since the day I was born.

I see a light, but I've been dreaming about a pokémon battle. I can't even remember what species my starter is. I make him or her fight, not for money, but for the respect I've lost and repressed. I'm not sure who I'm trying to impress at this point. It doesn't matter. Fire burns in my throat when I yell commands.

More light appears between the tiny slits of my eyes. My pokémon is running after me, peering up frantically because I'm being picked up by an unknown figure. The gesture is nice, but it isn't getting me anywhere useful. This is happening because of all those times I tried to persuade others into being religious, even though I'm not religious myself. This is happening because of all those times I bored my school's stadium with mundane topics such as mathematics and philosophy.

Or this could be happening because I rarely went to the doctor when I was young. My parents would drag me screaming across the kitchen tiles and out the door if a visit was necessary. I had chronic ear infections and sore throats, but I insisted I was fine. I could still talk and sing, after all. I could dance, watch television and play games. Kids know better than adults sometimes, I told my parents. "It'll go away. You'll see." And the problem _did_ go away—without antibiotics, without ongoing tubes or injections or anything else an ENT might order. My parents shrugged.

My parents shrugged, like I'm shrugging now. I scoff away the inordinate amount of painkillers, anticonvulsants, and medicine for blood pressure levels. I can't tell if the rumbling sound is something other than the pills my stomach digested lately. My brain fog disappears. As if by instinct, I grab my forehead, feeling for knots, an ache of sorts, but there's nothing. I hoped to wake up, of course, but I thought I'd feel more restless when I did.

Looking up, I see a very, very excited face, a head bobbed to the side and a hand waving back and forth. The thin blonde hair I see is similar to my own, as well as two emerald specks that speak volumes. The voice I hear is female, and, best of all, _familiar_.

"Annie!"

The sudden loudness startles me. I would have jumped if I wasn't in a bed. Yeah, I'm in a bed, but I don't see a way out of it. A soft, cottony gown caresses my skin down to the knees, but I can tell my back is exposed. I feel the the shame of getting up and revealing myself without the event actually taking place. So I stay where I am. Besides, there's wires, needles in my hand, a tube up my nose, and my breath is hitching every few seconds due to its uncomfortable positioning.

I try to talk to my mother. "I... I..." My mouth is dry. My words come out raspy and wrong.

"Oh, honey, don't try to talk. Here. Have a glass of water..." My mother hands me a cup. I take it shakily, but I gulp down its contents, closing my eyes. I open them again out of fear.

"Where am I?" I ask. It's a common question, right? And an honest one.

"We're at Sandgem Medical Center, honey." My mother frowns, the corner of her eyes tearing up, then continues, "Y-You were... We thought you..."

My mother's distraught is clear. I gaze at the room, its white walls and the hanging television portraying two lillipup dancing in some cartoon. One other person blocks my view. It's my father.

"Dad? What's going on?" I ask.

He sighs and rubs his neck. He doesn't seem keen on explaining, either, but I need it. "Annie, you had a stroke. You had a ruptured blood vessel in your brain, then went comatose. They said... They said you wouldn't wake up." He walks up to her, takes her hand. "It's truly a miracle, Annie, as you would say. Or something like it."

At this, I smile. "Thank Arceus. He's such a wonderful being, isn't He?"

"That's my girl." He grins halfheartedly. "Really, though. You were alone when it happened. I'm sorry we weren't there... It was the middle of the day and we were working... You called your mother and she couldn't understand anything you were saying. When you went silent, she heard a crash and came home immediately. We've been waiting for months, Annie. The doctors sounded so sure, and they were preparing us for you... to leave us. None of us were expecting this. I don't—I don't know how else to put it."

"That's all right, Dad." I look away from him. I've always seen him be calm, never so nerve-wracked.

"Their tests couldn't have been wrong, but they say the bridge between your brain and your body was damaged, and so you couldn't respond to us even if you wanted to. Three days ago they said it was only a matter of time till you woke up. " He peers at me, his face twisting into a frown. "It's cliché, but—could you hear us? Did you want to blink when we asked, but couldn't? Is it too soon to—"

"Dad. Please!" His behavior disturbs me. I need time to think, but my thought are still slow. I assume they'll be like that for a while, but making anyone else comprehend such a fine concept would be impossible, so I don't try. Instead I try to come up with a response. No, I couldn't hear them. Their motions, their speech were all separate and distant from my own.

I heard Kyurem. I heard things about a bet, a lifetime challenge in exchange for life itself. If I were my normal self, I'd be getting dressed and heading out already. But I'm not myself and I don't know where to start. And I don't know how to give my father the truth, so I settle for otherwise. Lies can spurn miracles if you're careful enough.

"Ah, well... I'd rather not talk about it. It was like being stuck inside my own head and not being able to do anything about it, you know?"

My mother comes into the conversation again. She had been wiping her face with a nearby napkin. "Whenever you're ready, then. And you don't even have to tell us. Do that therapy stuff you always talk about."

"Well..." It's true, I want to be a therapist—what would become of that goal now?—but my techniques never quite work on myself. I smoke cigarettes to relieve tension, but I've never told anyone. I'm the put together person. I'm the fun, kind, loving daughter and friend, yet I've spent many nights in Leavanny Park, watching the sun set quietly as if it didn't want anyone but me to notice. "I'll work on it. Promise."

"Of course," my mother says. "We're proud of you. You are nothing short of extraordinary. This is proof of that."

"Typical Mom thing to say," I say, crossing my arms. "Can't you think of anything more fantastical? Say I was born out of the womb at age twenty-one. That'd make a great story."

"I have no idea whose daughter she is," my father says, chuckling. "Do you?"

"Not a clue..." my mother says, one last tear rolling down her chin. "But look. We brought you something." She stands up, going to the other side of the room. As she rummages through her backpack, I can tell they've been here for days, maybe weeks. I shake my head and curse them silently as my mother hands me a picture, frayed at the edges and smeared with blue marker in the middle.

"This was your favorite picture when you were little," she says. "You liked it so much you drew on it so no one else would take it."

I take it, fumbling with it jokingly in my hand. I turn more serious when I actually see who—and what—is in the picture. There's me, obviously, younger, with pigtails and overalls like I were a farmer in the desert, and a baby deerling, just as small.

"We had a deerling?"

"Why, yes... You don't remember? Well, maybe in time you will. We had her before you were born, and she passed when you were four. But you loved her like no other. You would always play with her, and sleep with her, even."

I once had a pokémon. A deerling, to be precise... Not that I could remember... It happened, so it must be hiding in my memories, somewhere... I remember Kyurem, and I'm sure that Deerling probably wasn't a threat to anyone, least of all a child. This would take work. This would take a lot of consideration.

"About that... About pokémon..."

"Yes?"

I finger the blue marker on the picture, then the deerling's fur, which of course feels nothing like fur but rather like loss, and I only wish they hadn't removed the glass from the picture frame. I _do_ recall cutting myself once while trying to replace a hung-up picture. But I was little, then. I don't appreciate the reminder of my own fragility and I mourn for the chances I couldn't take before today.

"Well..."

By the time I'm done explaining the convoluted version of my story, the doctors have interrupted at least three times to check my vitals, my eye movement, and other important things I know Kyurem has taken care of. I'm perfectly healthy, the white coats say... They don't know how it happened, but there's no denying it. I even spin a tale when they come in, says I'm off to fight the demon pokémon, Giratina, to save the earth and become a hero. They say I've already earned that title by just living.

My parents, on the other hand, are baffled, but not as surprised as I thought they'd be. They stop me in the middle, too, to ask what spurred my interest in pokémon. Was it the picture? Did I have visions in her comatose state? No, no—this was a secret I had kept for years, my yearning for travel and traveling companions. I didn't have the heart to leave my family and friends behind, but these events, this stroke had inspired me. What could I do but listen to what my head was begging me to do?

"Annie," my mother says sternly. My mouth closes, lips curved downward. "If this is what you want to do, we won't stop you. You're an adult. But what about your schooling? It's February. The winter is almost over. Maybe you should wait until the end of the year, or until the end of your degree..."

I consider this for her. I wish Kyurem had specified a time frame, but no! He had been as vague as I would expect a legendary to be. The legendary sees all, controls all, but contributes nothing besides end results. If I take chances, I might end up where I started. So I shake my head and says "No. I don't graduate for another two years. I can't wait that long. What if... this happens again? At least then I'll have learned some therapy techniques and journeyed!" I manage a smile.

"Yes, well... It's possible... Annie, don't say that, please," my mother orders. She turns and leaves the room, only stopping to open the door.

I turn to my father. "Hmm. Did I make her mad? It's like I'm four again. Guess I can't go on a journey after all."

"She'll be all right. She can treat Renee like a baby next."

"Where is she, anyway?"

"Staying at her friend's house. She's been looking for support elsewhere. You know teenagers... Don't like their parents." He shakes his head. "She didn't exactly enjoy seeing you like that, either."

"I can imagine." I imagine my sister, her friends cradling her like they'd cradle an infant, because my sister's ambitious, but fragile. I have high expectations of Renee, but I'm not sure those expectations will ever be met. If a journey didn't involve danger, I'd encourage her to come with. Alas. "I'll tell her the news before I go."

"I think she'd appreciate that."

I nod. "What do you think about all this?"

He pauses before answering. "It's your life, not mine. You're not ten-years-old anymore, so that's a plus," my father says, grinning. "When you were ten, you were still chasing buneary and pidove out of the yard with a stick in your hand..."

I remember doing stuff like that. Now that I think about it, my actions were probably done in response to her deerling's passing... I had felt bitter and angry, and had never quite recovered... The death had crushed my dreams. It makes sense to me, but on the other hand, it's nonsensical for me to do that anymore, even if it is part of my personality. If I have to help pokémon feel better about themselves and others, threatening to hit them in the forehead with a weird object isn't the best idea. I can gift them instead, or encourage them to pick up mementos along the way, as a reminder of decent times rather than dwelling on horrid ones.

"That doesn't sound like me at all," I say, keeping my chin up. "I don't know what you're talking about."

My father goes to sit and folds his hand together, lost in sudden concentration. "You've just woken up and it's like things never happened," he says.

I don't know what to say to that. I feel the exact same way, a bit more surprised and a little less like a phenomenon.

My post-recovery terms are a breeze. The doctors' code of conduct tells me to eat healthily, drink plenty of water, and record any peculiar symptoms on the charts they give me before I leave. Exercise is crucial, too, but I know I'll be doing a lot of that, mentally _and_ physically.

One doctor has a problem—not necessarily with me, but with my treatment plans. There _are_ no treatment plans. I can articulate, so I don't need speech therapy. My movements are smooth, so I don't need physical therapy. Occupational therapy, maybe? I agree, mainly to get assistance with my upcoming journey, but also to satiate everyone who feels useless around me. It's the least I can do after they've watched me for so long. I'm assigned to Dr. Holster, a man the white coats say is meant to deal with supernatural-like occurrences.

I put things into motion as soon as I can. The first step is to visit my school adviser. The adviser, a man with a bushy beard who's rather spacey and prone to staring, tells me very slowly the classes I've failed due to prolonged absence. It would be hard to raise my GPA, but not impossible. Personal statements for graduate school will have to be extremely well written if I want to make an impression, he says. I forget how long I was comatose, but this puts the time frame into some sort of perspective. I wait until he's done spewing bad news, then I give my own. "I'm dropping out." There's no argument. He thinks it's the better option, really.

My parents are more exhausted by the fact I spent so much money going to college only to depart without maximum knowledge of my field. They feel it was all a waste.

"I don't think that's true," I say. "Psychology matters in everyday situations. Right now, for example, I'm using structured statements to tell you how I feel without offending you. I'm trying to make you feel better by expressing myself in the best way possible!"

I say psychology helps me with evaluating personalities, other peoples' motivations, dangerous situations, and much, much more. All applicable traits to have for traveling. My parents nod.

"We won't doubt you, Annie," my mother says. "But with the hospital bills on top of student loans..."

"I know," I say. "I know you can't pay anymore."

"Well, pokémon training presents a lot of opportunities to earn money. She'll be all right," my father says, rubbing my mother's shoulders in a reassuring way. "She has a savings account she can pick at, too."

I have a few thousand dollars in the bank. This is where my occupational therapy starts, and I'm glad I've done it within the second week of work. Dr. Holster tells me I'm allowed five thousand pokédollars a week. I have to convert my regular cash into pokédollars on my own—seeing if I'm capable is part of the process. I do the estimates in my head, then I withdraw my money after making calls to see if the Master Ball Bank is located in other towns, too—because, if not, I'm in need of a new bank. I then exchange the cash for pokédollars, which can be used in any Pokémon Center, pokémart, or for certain items in superstores. I buy a backpack, one my neck can handle when its full, and I fill it to the brim with necessities—a spare pair of clothes, boots, pokéballs, medicine, my cellphone accessories, food that won't perish easily... If I think of anything else along the way, I'll definitely do whatever it takes to give my pokémon a cozy life. The next week I'm given pokédollars but I spend nothing, and this happens for two more weeks. I think I'm set.

I'm not. There's more for me to do, says my occupational therapist.

"If that's the case, I need to know your name! I keep thinking of you as, you know, OT, the acronym. That's not right," I say.

"Oh, Ms. Willems... You've forgotten my name already?"

"Well, no, but I'd like to know your first name. We're going to be friends from now on." I beam at him, all jokes aside.

"Are we? That sounds a little scary." He chuckles. "Well, dear, my name is Gregory."

I ignore his quipping. "Greg for short?"

"Just Gregory is fine. Makes me sound younger than I actually am."

"I know what you mean... Annie makes me sound like a two-year-old for life. Do OTs do anything for that?"

Another chuckle. "I don't think so. Knowing you, though, you'll make this next task a bit more fun than the rest."

To prepare for my journey, Gregory has me do things a normal trainer might do, except he makes me stay in Sandgem Town for the time being. I'm impatient, but I have to do what I need to do. During the first couple days, we practice lighting fires in the north end of town. We walk around and he points out dry pieces of tinder that's perfect for the job. Along the way we search for firewood, and he explains to find thin wood as well as wood thick as my arm. Or maybe his arm, considering how much weight I've lost. Branches on trees won't work unless they snap immediately, without resistance. He makes a bow, a drill, a socket, and a coal catcher, all with forest materials alone. The fire starts after he goes over a few more instructions, and then it's my turn. Naturally, I forget a few steps, and I'm instructed once more, then I'm told to try it myself. I do so and succeed. The time it takes to do everything in less than an hour makes me hope a fire-type from Unova will show its face quickly.

Next comes finding clean water. Maybe I'll need a water-type, too, but I'm not sure how Kyurem plans these things. Gregory advises me to drink more water if there's high winds, and then some due to my stroke risks. I take notes—always sleep near a river or lake or spring, purify the water first, follow wild pokémon if I'm lost, collect rainwater if available, and then boil the water for ten minutes to get rid of harmful bacteria. I find this easier than lighting fires, but I refuse to drink the water until Gregory's approved it. Just in case.

Socializing is last. It's what I do best, but this is new. I have to battle and rent rooms in Pokémon Centers. I'm ordered to do this all in a single day, and I'm to take notes on my emotions, my reactions and my experiences. Gregory leaves his snivy with me and I'm glad to be trusted. We have a quick, lighthearted argument about giving his snivy a human-like nickname (Nate) and then I give up.

In total, I battle five trainers, then I decide that's enough for one pokémon in the span of twenty-four hours. I lose once, but I don't consider it official or fair—Nate is weak to fire-types and he's my only option. He does well, though. He listens to me as if he's been with me for years. His attacks are swift and he can take a hit. I wish I could communicate with him, but he doesn't say anything since the point is moot. At times I find myself lost just watching him fight, then I come back to reality. I'm a part of this, too. That fact sinks in when I collect my prize money and shake the hand of my opponent, talking about how we'll find each other in the future and fight with evolved pokémon and with a bigger team.

I take Nate to the Pokémon Center to rest. The lobby is full with trainers showing off to each other, and I join the crowd. The snivy's not mine, but he might as well be, considering his display of loyalty. He stands on his tiptoes and appears taller than the others, pounding his chest in a proud manner, and everyone gets a kick out of it. I see his joking side, too, when he taps other pokémon on the shoulder and then runs away. I shake my head. What am I supposed to make of this? He's a happy, healthy pokémon. No dangers here.

Another trainer advises me to rent a room for the night before the Pokémon Center is full. I jump to my feet and march straight to the counter, where I meet a pink-haired lady named Nurse Joy. I've heard stories about the Pokémon Center nurses, how they're all related and in the same profession, just in different towns. Later I write down a note about how I'll have to avoid treating them like they're robots, because that's my first impression.

The night itself is peaceful, but I can't sleep. I've done that for so long, after all, so I write down therapy notes like I would if Nate were my patient and I prepare a treatment plan for him. I fake negative traits and makes a point to say they're false. Nate is a good pokémon, but I wish he were a little more sinister, so that I could see what I'd truly be dealing with. I lay on my side when I'm done, scratching the snivy's tail lightly, watching his chest rise and fall.

I could get used to this.


	3. at first sight

chapter 2

at first sight

On my own time, I visit the library. Kyurem had specifically mentioned Unovan pokémon. Here in Sinnoh, they're largely unknown and unidentifiable. I sit at a wide table and read there. I don't want to take the books out of the building in case my parents or Gregory see them. I wouldn't have an explanation for that.

I memorize Unovan pokémon by their physical features rather than their specialties and typing. Things like that won't matter, but what if I end up with a dark-type team? Well, stranger things have been known to happen. For example, I realize that Snivy is a Unovan pokémon. I'll have to ask Gregory eventually about his origins and traveling expertise, if we ever grow that close. He could be a knowledgeable ally, though I'm not sure if Kyurem would approve of human assistance on such an important mission...

In the midst of my thoughts I skip a page. I turn back, am surprised by how emotionless these pictures look, yet there's some variety. There's a black and white dancing pokémon wearing bows, and next in line are her evolutions, followed by a green ball of psychic power that reminds me of jell-o. And then—a water- and flying-type pokémon? Fighting an electric-type with that thing would be a nightmare, but an interesting challenge nonetheless. With the countless choices here, though, I can't foresee a specific battle, partner, or anything else.

I close the book and sigh. I'm leaving tomorrow. Everything from here on out will be due to luck, or fate, whichever exists. I'm not sure how I feel about that yet.

As promised, I confront my younger sister before I go. I'm ready to walk out the door at a moment's notice, with sneakers strapped on, backpack closed tight, and a pokéball in hand. I do this because I'm expecting my sister to fall on her knees, begging me to stay like the little kid she no longer is. Ah, well. What will be will be, I think, and I call Renee downstairs.

"You're leaving already?" Renee says quietly. She's putting her blonde hair in a bun, but at the realization she lets it fall lazily on her shoulders.

"Yeah. Gotta go before it's dark."

"It's nine in the morning, Annie."

"Tell me about it."

Renee manages a small smile. She walks down the last set of stairs and stops at the railing, holding on to it for dear life. "I can't wait to go on my own pokémon journey someday."

"Start at twenty-one. You can be a late bloomer like me. They'll all look at you like you're tough at first, then when they see you have just a caterpie, they'll deadpan."

"I'd be embarrassed, actually..." Renee says, blushing.

I fidget with the pokéball in my hand. "I'm ready for it," I say, and I'm not even sure what I mean. I'm being myself for the sake of my sister—random and (hopefully) amusing.

"Good to know you won't let them bring you down," Renee says. I can see the tears coming. "Seriously..."

"Hey, now. Don't cry." But it's too late. Renee's sobbing and nearly hyperventilating from the pressure of saying goodbye. I sigh. If my sister ever went on a journey, how would she deal with accidents? How would she deal with in-the-moment dangers? I want to stay and see Renee's confidence grow, but I don't have the time. "I'd like to think that the worst is over. So I don't see what you're crying about. Gonna miss me? Fine! Write letters to me and invest in a flying-type to send them to me. Sleep in my room if you want to."

"I-I can do that?" Renee says, sniffling.

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Just last month you said—"

"Shush. Forget about that. That was just me showing some sisterly love."

"In the worst way possible..."

"Exactly." I pause. "Did you know we had a deerling once?"

"No."

"I don't remember much, either. You were probably too young. But I bet I used to be mean and tell it to knock you over when you were learning to walk. Sorry about that."

"Annie!" Renee gasps.

I laugh. I set my belongings down, knowing I'll have to pick them back up in a minute. I hug my sister for a long time, squeeze her, then let her go. "I'll keep you guys updated," I say. "When you meet my pokémon, you'll be glad I was gone. They'll be the cutest things you've ever seen."

"Caterpie aren't cute."

"Says you." In truth, I don't think a caterpie could be all that menacing. I'm safe. "Well, I guess I'll be going now... I already said good-bye to Mom and Dad, so..."

Renee nods and runs upstairs to hide her face from further embarrassment. I shake my head. When I saw Renee for the first time after being released from the hospital, the meeting hadn't been as happy as I thought. Renee's eyes sparkled and she nearly fell over in shock, but there was that knowing in her voice, like she was anticipating me to leave again. And I'm not the type to send messages home or call every day... Maybe I could try harder and make exceptions, but my hands are full and I haven't even stepped out the door.

For Renee and my parents, it would be as if I never woke up to begin with.

Route 202, my first destination, my first travel escapade, isn't as daunting as it should be. In fact, it's downright annoying.

I'm challenged to a battle right away. I know the rules: eye contact and a verbal challenge means I have to battle or forfeit my money. But I don't have any pokémon yet. How am I supposed to fight? I tell the trainer this, and he outstretches his hand, ready to take his prize. I sigh and hand him two hundred pokédollars. What a waste. Then I call Gregory and ask him if that's even legal. Apparently, it is.

I end the call before Gregory has a chance to ask me about my starter. We agreed to keep in contact as I travel. He explained to me that he has a psychic-type and can teleport to me in an instant as long as his pokémon had an item of clothing to track my scent. I left behind a pair of shorts that no longer fit and besides, it's too cold for shorts anyway.

"You can summon me day or night in case of an emergency, in case you feel stroke symptoms coming on, or if you need protection from a stronger enemy... Anything goes," he had said.

Well, isn't this an emergency? I need a pokémon—and fast. For me, it's harder than it sounds. I can't think of anyone else on a journey who's this restricted. Six pokémon in this giant, vast region are waiting for me. They could be anywhere. I might be broke by the time I find my starter.

I wonder if I can break a rule and catch a temporary starter until I find a pokémon from Unova. I hadn't been able to ask Kyurem these questions and now I'm regretting it and cursing Arceus under my breath. Then there's the matter of commitment. When you catch a pokémon, you keep it. You raise it and take care of it. You don't dump it when it seems convenient. When the time came, I wouldn't be able to release an innocent pokémon who was willing to help me. I have to do this on my own.

I start my search. I look to the sky to see starly flying in a group, singing their morning calls. I see some perched on tree branches, too, and I stretch to see if I can find a different flying-type among them. There isn't one.

In the tall grass I meet a horde of bidoof, which choose to gnaw on my shoes instead of fleeing. I kick them off as gently as possible. I take desperate measures and crawl through the grass on my hands and knees, hoping there's not a small bug-type I miss, but I ram into an unsuspecting shinx when I'm not paying attention and I take a scratch to the face.

"Lovely," I say, rubbing away the slight blood on my face. "One hour into my journey and I'm already being robbed by trainers and attacked by wild pokémon..."

My voice trails off as I hear a musical instrument. But the noise stops when I finish speaking, so I say nonsense words and the music goes on. I move through the route, looking for the source, and eventually I run into a kricketot.

"You're not from Unova," I say, disappointed.

The pokémon's antennae perk up and rub together, creating more music. It seems joyful and content with me until the two of us encounter a battle. The trainers are yelling and the kricketot seems to like the loudness, so it leaves me alone.

"I'm going to look stupid doing this, but..." I say to myself, then I get down to business. I look under a rock. There's nothing there but a group of caterpie, which makes me feel homesick. I avoid rocks after that. Climbing trees is another option, but I snap a branch and fall a few feet. I'm bruised but I try once more. I'm suddenly in patrat territory, scared out of my wits. Next I dive into a stream with my clothes on (I don't need anyone to steal them). All the water-types are from Sinnoh. At least their water gun attacks are ineffective here.

It takes days of avoiding trainers, eating by myself, and stalking water-types for easy, clean drinks, but I finally find my starter.

The pokémon—another insect—stands on eight legs. Its body is mostly colored a reddish shade of purple, aside from its green abdomen and the black rings randomly spread around. Its yellow-and-black eyes are dull and the hump on its back reminds me of old people.

I recognize it as a venipede.

The venipede is relaxing by a tree trunk, feeling it with its antennae, as if there's something interesting about the texture or smell. I suck in a breath, afraid to exhale and scare it away. It could scamper up the tree and trap itself, but I'm too slow to catch up. And if it runs into the bushes, then I'm doomed.

"I knew he wouldn't let me go on forever without a pokémon, but what do I do now?" I whisper to myself. It's a bad habit I've quickly developed after being on my own and stuck in my own mind for too long.

The venipede stops moving. "I'm not stupid. I can hear you," it says. I assume the bug-type is a male due to its deeper voice. I hadn't expected pokémon to have individual voices like humans.

In fact, I didn't expect to understand pokémon at all.

"Y-Yeah... I mean, I don't _think_ you're stupid, but sometimes I do this thing..." I trail off. I'm talking to a pokémon and I'm making myself look ridiculous at the same time.

"Uh-huh. Who's he?"

"He?"

"Whatever asshole you were just mumbling about."

His profanity throws me off even more. Already I can see he's crass. If I can unravel his secrets right away, I'd make great progress...

Before that, I have to answer him.

I can tell him about Kyurem, but I'm not sure if it's a good idea. Lying isn't the way to begin a friendship, either. I aim for the former and says, "You know. Kyurem." At best, he'll think I'm crazy. At worst, he'll take me seriously and Kyurem will punish me.

Gambling isn't my strong suit, but he says, "Oh, so you're one of those religious fanatics who thinks Arceus is the only fucking thing worth living for."

"You know me..." I say, nearly breathing a sigh of relief.

"I don't know you. And I'd rather not. Besides, what makes you think Kyurem is male?"

I know legendaries are usually genderless. How can I explain that Kyurem had _sounded_ male? That would be a dead giveaway.

The venipede spares me this train of thought and continues, "I'd prefer to think of Genesect as female myself."

"Why?"

"Her figure reminds me of a human female." He stares at me. "Much like yourself, actually. ...Now you just ruined the image for me. Fuck you, too."

I smile at him. "You're welcome."

"So are you going to whip out your almighty team and fight me or what? Trainers like you always show off to us weaker species."

I emerge from my hiding spot and face him. "What makes you think I have pokémon?"

"You can understand my speech. Only veteran trainers are capable of that."

"I-I actually don't have any pokémon..." I admit. I lift up my arm in a victory pose. "But I have my fists! And my spirit."

The venipede laughs harshly. "You're a loser coming to take on more than you can handle! Well, you

have to fight me if you want me on your team, which is a fucking joke, because you have nothing to fight me with. Not to mention I'm not afraid to kill you."

I huff. The venipede is also dangerously perceptive. We've known each other for ten minutes at most and he's already threatened my life. I take a few steps back. My mortality is what hurts most, after all. Kyurem hadn't made this mission seem dangerous or threatening, but now that I think about it, it's meant to be this way. This is a huge risk I'm taking and I'm not even sure if it's worth it...

The venipede is a bug-type, though. They aren't known to be that powerful, and if I'm in deep trouble, I can call Gregory as a last resort.

I regain my confidence and nod.

"Hah! Suit yourself." His antennae perk up eagerly. He had been using those when I found him, too... If I could restrain them somehow...

He lunges at me. Since he has more legs, it makes sense for him to kick off easier, but I'm not prepared. I barely dodge him by the time he reaches me, his take down attack fully charged. He isn't able to stop himself before he crashes into a tree. With this I see my only chance of winning. I have to wear him down or make him hurt himself. It's a battle of endurance.

The venipede uses a long range attack next. Out of his antennae come two sharp needles aimed toward me. I drop to the ground and stay there, hoping he can't control their direction. With a little training, he might be able to, but as it is, they disappear in the underbrush behind me.

"You're such a pro at dodging," the venipede says, rolling his eyes. "When will you do something?"

"Uh..." It's a fair question, one I should ask myself. I don't have special powers or body structures that do amazing things if I will them to. I only have my brain and even that is limited.

"Gonna pray to Arceus? You should know there's no poison-type legendary. There's just me. How's that for preaching?"

"Poison-type? You've got to be kidding me!" I jump back to my feet. Why hadn't I studied Unovan pokémon more carefully? "I've been using what I learned in school to figure you out at first glance. Physical appearance—not remarkable! No grandiose thoughts, no religious fantasies—no signs of mania! But you said you would kill me... I guess you'd do that with poison."

The venipede looks at her. "Huh? You say something?"

"Yeah! You were... Oh," I say, seeing now what the venipede has been working on during my rant. He had put down black spikes around my feet and in the rest of the clearing we were in. The spikes are stuck in the ground and anyway, I'm not sure I want to pick them up.

"Toxic spikes," the venipede says. "Touch them and you'll die a slow death. Step over them and I'll lay more."

"How do poison-types even exist? Seriously... How do I get out of this?" I say, thinking aloud again.

"You don't." He smirks. "I'll be going now."

"Wait!" I cry. He doesn't listen. I call again when he's nearly out of sight. "Wait! I need you!"

Another sinister laugh. "Good fucking joke. Try another one."

"Really," I say, quieter this time. This isn't just another encounter. This is something like fate or destiny or whatever word people usually attach to these incidents. At first sight, I love him. I don't know his name or his story or anything else, but I love him. "I need you."

The venipede sluggishly comes back to me. "You know I could stick a poison sting in your heart and you'd die instantly?"

There's a reason he's setting these snares; there's a reason he cusses out of anger. I just have to find that reason. "Yeah, but you haven't done it yet," I say slowly.

"Don't test me," he says, but he won't look at me.

It hits me, then. "You're afraid to kill me, aren't you?"

"Don't test me!" he says again. "There are things worse than death, and not all poison is fatal."

True—there are worse things in life than being surrounded by a lethal pokémon attack, but at the moment, I'm having trouble thinking of some. I find it hard to believe that my entire life belongs to this creature and he doesn't even know the sentiment's true extent. I can let the venipede disappear so I can safely escape, or I can continue to battle and die. Either way, I lose.

"Just come with me," I say, inching closer to the circle's edge. I take out a pokéball and reach out my hand. "I noticed you can't control your movements very well. I can fix that."

"I'm sure," the venipede says sarcastically.

"Really. I can train you. You're limited in a forest like this, aren't you? And you won't live forever, either." This sounds familiar. Limited times, limited abilities. I try not to cry as I continue, "I can make you stronger. I swear it."

I realize that the venipede could say one thing and mean the opposite. Only the pokéball can answer. I throw it at him and watch as he's willingly enveloped in a red light. I can feel my adrenaline running wild as the pokéball shakes once, twice and then—it stops. The toxic spikes around me disappear as well, but my reaction is to fall on the ground and take some time to myself before releasing my new pokémon.

"My starter," I say. "Kephi..."

"Kephi? What kind of fucking name is that? Sounds girly." That's his greeting when I let him out of his pokéball. At least it's not another threat. I'll have to work on the swearing, though.

"What?" I reply dumbly.

"I can hear you from inside the pokéball," Kephi says, his voice slow, as if I'm having trouble hearing. "That's what you called me before you fell asleep. The bugs probably picked at your skin while you were lying there."

"Don't make me return you," I say with a wave of my hand. The minimized pokéball in my hand makes me feel that much safer. If his emotions go haywire, I can control them in a flash. "If that's what I called you, then that's your name! Splendid."

Kephi snorts in response. "Because you don't have enough brain cells to think of a proper nickname while you're awake," he retorts.

Honestly, he isn't that far from the truth. Kyurem, with all his strength and power, couldn't have possibly restored the decayed human cells in my body. What had been done, though, was unclear. I don't prefer to question it, lest I want to end up back in the emergency room, my family crying by my side.

It occurs to me that Kephi could be there, too, now that he's officially mine. The thought makes me smile. Not that the bug- and poison-type particularly cares for me, but he seems to have faith in an honor code I'll have to learn about.

"Hey!" he cries. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, dumbass!"

"Huh? You say something?" I say, mocking him. "My neck would break if I had to look down all the time."

Kephi only mumbles to himself. His pride and his ego are bigger than his body parts combined. If he evolves, of course, he could tower over me, but then I might not be able to control his actions as well. With more speed, he could trounce me easily. I need more teammates. I need a full team of six, and by then I hope it'll be a happy team with no clashing personalities or interests. I have a hunch that things won't go that smoothly, however.

On the way to Jubilife City, I have Kephi train against wild pokémon. He's under the impression that I want him to get stronger, but I think there's a lot to be said about one's identity when their emotions flare. The amount of effort he puts into attacks tells her he's angry; he's cunning in the way he performs tricks and lays traps to defeat his enemies; and he's guilty about something I can't name because no matter what he says, he won't kill. Not even for food.

I test that last idea. We're five minutes away from the city—I can see the skyscrapers and the sun setting behind us—but I want to _know_. He's beating a kricketot senseless and screaming, "Damn piece of trash! How does this feel? I'll rip apart your organs and roast them above a fire-type's hot ass!"

"Okay," I say, clapping my hands to get his attention. "Finish it!"

He stops and turns to me, confused. "Finish what? This thing doesn't have an ounce of courage left in it."

"You said it, not me," I say, pretending I don't mind. "That you'd tear him into pieces, that is."

"Already done."

I observe his handiwork and try not to cringe. The kricketot's eyes are black and his stomach has a dent in it. "He looks well put together to me. A bit bruised, but otherwise fine," I say. Next, I have to make him think of a further goal. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really," Kephi says, looking back and forth between his prey and his trainer.

"Well, I'm hungry," I prod.

"Get your own damn food."

"Nuh-uh. I'm your trainer, remember? You don't _serve_ me, per se, but... you could at least feed me."

He shakes his head. "Too close to the city. I'm not an idiot. Humans prepare and process pokémon meat before they eat it."

That chunk of knowledge is important, but I can't put my finger on it yet. At any rate, I know he won't kill—not for himself, and not for me. I press the button on his pokéball and the object grows in my palm. "We'll get food. You did a good job," I say, and with that, he's gone.

I come from a quaint town where gossip is encouraged and where fun times are endless, so I don't anticipate Jubilife City to be full of distant people. Even the gatekeeper waves me away, giving me a vague warning about how the city is carved out of a mountain, and so I should look out for pits in the roads and falling boulders near the route entrances. I thank the gatekeeper with my widest smile, determined not to let the dreariness effect me.

I meet a crossroad almost immediately. To my left is the global terminal, where trainers can gather and trade pokémon if they weren't satisfied with what they had. I can't imagine trading Kephi to an unsuspecting trainer. I turn away. Straight ahead is the television station—the satellites on top are indicative of that. That could be interesting, but not now. I go to the Pokémon Center instead.

It's my first time in a Pokémon Center lobby as an official trainer. Gregory had gone to great lengths to receive my training license from Professor Rowan. I held on to it for dear life when I saw it. The last thing I needed was to get into trouble with the police while a legendary pokémon watched me from afar. Now I fumble with it in my pocket as I approach the counter.

The pink-haired Nurse Joy, at least, is as eager as ever. "How can I help you?" she asks cheerfully.

"Hi! I need a room for the night," I say, not bothering to make small talk. I need to get Kephi in another room as soon as possible so that I have the chance to ask a few questions. "And I need my venipede healed."

"Certainly," she says, taking Kephi's pokéball.

Nurse Joy is about to leave when I intercept. "Do you mind? I'm kind of in a hurry. Your chansey can take care of him, right?"

Chansey is Nurse Joy's assistant pokémon, capable of doing whatever a human nurse can do, considering it has a human-like figure of sorts, and it's usually raised in a hospital setting from birth.

"Oh, yes," she says. "One moment."

I tap the counter with my fingers impatiently. Kephi might hate me already if he knows what I'm thinking. I keep my thoughts away from him and I keep my voice low when Nurse Joy returns.

"I didn't mean to be rude," I start. "I don't want my venipede to know I'm talking to you."

"Ah! Most trainers don't realize that their pokémon can understand their surroundings from inside their pokéballs. I'm impressed."

"Yeah..." I don't mention how I magically know pokémon language.

Curiosity forms on the nurse's face. I suppose it was inevitable. "How come you don't want your pokémon to...?" She trails off, hushing herself effectively.

I look around. The lobby is empty. I motion for Nurse Joy to join me on one of the couches in the corner. When we're seated, I go on, "This might sound stupid, but it's true. I didn't know Kephi was part poison-type when I was catching him."

"Poison-types are notorious for being used in evil schemes. Does that worry you?"

"I'm not sure." I have a feeling Kephi has more experience than he lets on, but I don't know how to construct that idea in a sentence. "I just wanted to know... Is there a way to, like, I don't know... Can you suck the poison out of him? Can you suppress his poison-type moves?"

Nurse Joy folds her hands in her lap concernedly. "Even if that kind of operation were available, I wouldn't recommend it. I could see that as a breach of trust, which would breed resentment between pokémon and trainer..."

"So the answer is no," I say flatly.

"I'm sorry," Nurse Joy says. "If I tried it, the likelihood of your venipede surviving would be very low."

I lay her head down on the back of the couch and sigh. "He's gonna be a handful. What have I gotten myself into?"

"I can't say I see venipede everyday, or new trainers with poison-types..."

"Exactly. What have I gotten myself into?"

"Make sure he thinks you're stronger, even if you're not. Collect the gym badges and he'll respect you more. If you need to, release him and catch him in a new pokéball from Jubilife Condominiums. And always carry antidotes as a precaution. They'll cure any type of poison," Nurse Joy explains.

That's helpful to know, but it's easier said than done. We're silent after that, and soon the chansey comes back with Kephi scuttling on the floor. He demands food. Nurse Joy hasn't heard him talk up until now, but she's not surprised by his foul mouth. She gives the room key to me and says goodnight to the both of us.

The room is comfortable enough. It's nothing too extravagant, but it works for one or two nights. Kephi asks me where the hell the food is and I pull it out of my backpack.

"When did you buy that? We went straight to the Pokémon Center!" he asks.

"Uh—"

"You had this the whole time, didn't you?"

Again, he's too perceptive. "I bought it while you were being healed."

He doesn't believe me, but he doesn't have a comeback, either. I throw the poffins and berries on the floor, too tired to care about the mess I'll have to clean in the morning. It's been an exhausting day. I stay up long enough to return Kephi to his pokéball. I recall sleeping with Nate, but he's a calm and controlled pet. Kephi is a spiteful, hostile... poison-type pokémon. I almost think of him as a monster, but he's a wimpy bug-type at the same time. I just don't have a grasp on him. Not yet.


End file.
